


Permafrost

by belmanoir



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Dean/Sami, Established Relationship, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, cw obsessive/compulsive thoughts and behavior, references to Sami/Kevin and Dean/Renee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 06:26:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9807176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belmanoir/pseuds/belmanoir
Summary: After the Festival of Friendship, Sami is freaked out. He calls Dean.“You called me to make you feel better, right? So let me make you feel better.”“I called you because you wouldunderstand,” Sami clarifies.





	

Sami wants to watch the Festival of Friendship. He’s aware it’s a sick compulsion, but he needs to know.

He can’t believe Kevin’s fooled people into thinking he’s really friends with Chris Jericho, when it’s obvious to Sami he can barely stand the sound of Chris’s voice half the time. Maybe that’s why Sami wants to keep an eye on what they’re doing. So he can collect fresh proof he’s not crazy.

Proof he still knows Kevin better than anyone. 

Which is pathetic, since he never really knew Kevin to begin with. Or was lying to himself about what he knew. Or he knew, but thought he was the one special exception to the rule. Or something. He’s gone round and round it until he doesn’t trust his own memories, can’t remember what he felt or what he knew or what he told himself.

He’s starting from scratch now, rebuilding his career from the ground up. Writing a new story, his own story.

_Like you did at NXT?_

Fuck. Sami _can’t_ get sucked back in. Especially after that loss to Jericho last week. Sami can still feel Kevin’s eyes burning into him as he gave Jericho what looked like the world’s least relaxing shoulder massage. Part of Sami—okay, maybe an egotistical part—is convinced Kevin is aiming this whole act right at him. _See? I have a new best friend now._ In which case, the best punishment is not to watch. And anyway, he _can’t_ watch, because that would mean standing in front of a monitor and people would see him, and he’d be right back in their story in everyone’s minds. The epic adventures of Sami and Kevin. Which have to be over.

So even though swallowing kind of hurts after that coquina clutch, he’s valiantly eating chips and lemony hummus in catering and pretending to be really interested in Candy Crush when he hears the collective gasp.

Sami skids to a stop in front of the monitor just in time to see Kevin, chest heaving, glance at the ring apron in sudden inspiration, then run his eyes furtively around the arena. He always does that. Is he checking to make sure that no one can stop him, or that everyone’s watching? 

Kevin shoves Jericho’s head between his legs, and a chill runs down Sami’s spine. God, does Kevin really draw it out this long? It doesn’t feel this long when it’s happening to you—but it also feels longer, less inevitable. You can’t see anything, the world is dark and then a blur and then black around the edges—

Up go Jericho’s legs and _slam_ goes Jericho on the apron. Cold shooting pain erupts in Sami’s back.

Everyone turns to look at him. They see his face.

Xavier Woods takes a step towards him. “You okay?” 

“Oh yeah, I’m fine.” Sami shakes off Bayley’s arm with a sheepish smile he knows can’t be very convincing. “We all knew this was coming, right? I, um—hey, I’ll see you guys later.”

He can’t actually leave until they’re done filming, but he goes and sits in his car. The WWE twitter account already has a GIF up of Kevin’s powerbomb. Sami can’t stop watching it. Flip, smash, Jericho rolling in agony on the floor. Flip, smash. Broken so neatly and quickly. Over and over. The graceful, practiced motion of Kevin’s arms...

There’s no sound in the GIF. You couldn’t hear the powerbomb in the video, either, now he thinks about it. It must make a sound, right? Maybe it’s one of those sounds only you can hear, because it’s like, not really a sound, it’s a feeling, or it travels in your bones, or something. But no, a body hitting canvas-covered steel has to make _some_ kind of sound, even if it’s just a thud and not the sharp crack Sami imagines. 

Raw is over. He doesn’t have to be here anymore. He goes cold, realizing he’s sitting alone in his car in the dimly lit parking garage with a light shining right on his face when Kevin is in the building and craving violence. He gets the hell out of there, and then pulls into the Caesar’s Palace parking lot.

When he picks up his phone, the GIF is still running. He wants to keep watching it. He wants to look for more video.

He calls Dean.

To his surprise, Dean answers on the second ring. “Ambrose.”

“Hey, uh, it’s me. Sami Zayn.”

“Yeah, my phone told me. How’s it hanging?”

“Can I see you? I mean, now? Tonight? I know you guys are in Oakland but maybe I could get a flight?”

There’s a pause.

Sami is reluctant to get into it, but he also wants Dean to say yes. Knowing it’s a pity play, he gets out, “I don’t know if you heard, but Kevin...” Honestly, what more is there to say? He needs to see Dean because Kevin. “He, um, he and Chris Jericho were having this Festival of Friendship...” He cringes. The whole thing is going to sound so stupid.

“Renee told me. Are you cleared to drive? She also mentioned you and Joe had a run-in.”

Now that the need to explain why he’s upset is gone, he still wants to. Renee couldn’t possibly have given Dean all the details. Of course, Sami doesn’t have all the details yet either. “I’m fine.” 

“Okay, hold on a second.”

Sami forgot all about Joe and his aching throat. Maybe he should ice it or something? He forgot about Renee, too. Maybe she and Dean have Valentine’s Eve plans tonight. He can hear her muffled voice.

She sounds concerned and understanding. Sami cringes again. Why did he have to have the worst break-up of his life _at work?_

“All clear,” Dean says. “I’ll meet you in Bakersfield.”

Sami feels a rush of relief and decides not to politely reiterate that he could get a flight. “Thanks.”

“What are friends for? See you in a few.” 

Sami’s phone bloops as Dean ends the call.

When Sami reaches Bakersfield around one in the morning, Dean’s already waiting at the Motel Six, because he thinks speed limits are a dare. Sami can’t wait to see him, but somehow he’s overtaken by awkward embarrassment as soon as Dean opens the door. He goes on tiptoes for a hello kiss and then wonders if that was a faux pas. Dean kisses him back, though.

Sami can’t make eye contact. “I need to watch the whole thing.”

“No you don’t. Come on, give me your phone.”

Sami curls protectively around his phone, abruptly ready to fight to his last drop of blood for it. “No!” He knows he’s being ridiculous. “I need to watch the whole thing. But if I do it alone I won’t _stop_ watching it, and if I do it with anyone else...Please just watch it with me. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

Dean heaves a heavy sigh, but he gets comfortable on the bed and stares at the ceiling while Sami searches for a decent video. When he’s got one, he sits next to Dean, holding his phone where they can both see it, and presses play.

As the Festival goes on, Sami feels colder and colder. By the end of the segment he’s clenching his sore jaw tightly enough to give himself a headache and his back is so stiff it feels...broken. Dean pries the phone gently from his tense fingers. 

Sami doesn’t try to get it back. He can’t speak. 

But he has to. He has to before Dean does and then the evening moves on and he can’t talk about it anymore. “I...I thought I would be happy when Kevin finally kicked the shit out of Jericho,” he says, and then the words come in a flood. “He hates Jericho. He’s hated Jericho from Day One. He hates his jokes and the way he dresses and...did you see his reaction to that sculpture? Seven thousand dollars, Jesus. How did Jericho not know he’d hate showgirls? But what difference does it make? Kevin loved me and I knew just how he liked everything and he did exactly the same thing to me. Exactly. But he hadn’t decided at first if he was going to do it, did you see that? He thought maybe he would, he had it all set up, but he didn’t quite make up his mind until the last minute. So had he not decided with me either? If I watched back that Takeover, would I see the moment where I could have avoided the whole thing?” Sami can feel the compulsion coming. His fingers itch to reach for his phone. He clenches his fists. “I don’t want to watch it. I don’t want to think about it. Why now? I was over it. I’ve even had matches with Kevin recently. Good matches. Professional matches. When he cost me the United States Championship last week, I was upset a reasonable amount, a _normal_ amount. And now this, which I shouldn’t even care about, which has nothing to do with me, and—” He hates this out-of-control feeling. Crazy. It’s crazy. “My back hurts, and it’s probably just driving four and a half hours without stopping and being jumped by Joe, but maybe it’s psychosomatic. Maybe I’m going to give myself a fucking psychosomatic injury right when I was finally building some momentum—”

Dean holds up a hand. “Whoa whoa whoa. Okay. I’m sorry, I can’t listen to this anymore.”

Fresh shame floods Sami, on top of everything else. 

“You called me to make you feel better, right? So let me make you feel better.”

“I called you because you would _understand,_ ” Sami clarifies.

Dean laughs. “Touché. Hey, I dismembered a mannequin that looked like Seth on live television. I get obsession. But at a certain point you gotta let it go, because it’s not helping you heal anymore.”

Dean lets everything go. But maybe...maybe everything goes anyway, no matter what you do. Maybe you can’t hold on to anything, so you have to just try to be Zen about it. Sami tries to flex his fingers.

“Come on.” Dean pats the mattress. “Lie down.”

Sami does. “I don’t think—I’m not—”

Dean chuckles, an easy, cheerful sound that makes Sami feel very alone. “We’re not there yet, don’t worry. Close your eyes and take some deep breaths, okay? There isn’t anything you could have done differently, because the problem isn’t you. It’s Kevin Owens. You said that yourself. Everything was different with Jericho and he did the exact same thing.”

Sami did say that, didn’t he? But he doesn’t like the idea. Can’t stand the idea that there’s just something fundamentally wrong with Kevin. That Kevin will never be happy. There has to be something someone could do to make him happy. 

“Deep breaths!” Dean barks, and Sami tries. “Picture—what does Canada have instead of beaches? Snow, right? Picture a vast expanse of pure white drifts. Maybe some of those little ice houses, a couple of reindeer—” 

Sami tries to not to correct him, he tries, he tries—“Caribou,” he says, quiet and fast. Just like Kevin with Jericho. Neither of them can help themselves. “Sorry. Sorry. Um, I got it from here. Thanks.” 

Dean sighs. Sami can feel him arranging himself against the headboard, can hear his deep, even breaths. Sami tries to match them. He pictures snow, the cold, Canada. It’s soothing, actually. Clean, white, a healing layer over the earth. In spring it will melt into the ground and—

Panic jolts through him again. “There are places that don’t melt even in summer.” His face burns but he needs to get it out. “Permafrost. What if—what if I’m frozen forever?” Sami can barely be with Dean, and Dean is the easiest person in the world to be around. 

What if Kevin broke him?

“Work with me here,” Dean says in exasperation. “You can feel better, but you have to want it. You gotta fight for it.”

Sami almost never wins the big one. And this is the big one. 

“Just be quiet and breathe for ten minutes. If you don’t feel any better in ten minutes, we’ll watch whatever fucking videos you want.”

Ten minutes. Confidence floods Sami, suddenly. He can do anything for ten minutes. In ten minutes, he almost beat Braun Strowman. “Make it eleven.”

Dean nudges Sami’s leg with his toe. “Whatever. Dork.”

So he lies next to Dean and breathes and thinks about snow for eleven minutes...and he does feel better. Quieter. Less like he drank Red Bull mixed with espresso and then did a cardio workout.

Dean grins at him. “Good work. Take your shirt off and flip over. I’m gonna give you a backrub.”

Sami obeys. He tries not to flinch every time Dean touches his lower back.

“Hmm. This isn’t helping you relax, is it?”

“I’m sorry,” Sami says miserably. “I’m trying. It’s not that I don’t trust you.”

There’s a brief silence. “Let’s try it the other way.” Dean rolls off him, pulling off his own shirt. “You give me a backrub. And you know, if your hands wander a little, I won’t complain.”

It seems a little selfish on Dean’s part, but it’s really the least Sami can do after making him drive all this way. 

Straddling Dean’s hips, he runs his fingertips over Dean’s shoulders with gentle pressure, avoiding the bruises. They’re warm and soft. Dean makes a contented noise and noses deeper into the mattress, and something inside Sami unexpectedly loosens. 

“Do you like me?” he blurts out. “I mean, if we weren’t sleeping together, would you want to hang out with me?”

There’s a long silence. Sami rubs at a knot in Dean’s shoulder with the heel of his hand. Gently, because he’s aware he doesn’t actually know what he’s doing. Kevin’s backrubs felt great while they were happening, but Sami’s back always hurt the next day. 

“A guy could be offended by a question like that,” Dean says finally. “I have a brain up here too.” He taps his forehead.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I mean, do you like me?” Dean rolls his shoulders. “Or did you just call me because my best friend hit me in the back with a steel chair a few times?”

“I like you,” Sami says hastily, distressingly conscious of his own guilt. “I like you a lot. You’re very...charming. And kind. And occasionally your sense of humor isn’t too bad.” He’s suddenly aware that it’s true. He likes Dean a lot. He kisses Dean’s shoulder. “Let me make it up to you. Please.” 

Dean rolls his shoulders again, and settles. “Ah, it’s okay. It’s hard to think about other people when you’re hurting.” He sighs. “Harder for some people than others.”

“How have you been?” Sami asks, feeling even guiltier even though he knows Dean probably means Seth or Roman or both, and not him. Feeling even guiltier _because_ he knows it, and he didn’t ask. 

Dean shakes his head. “Let’s not ruin the moment. And yeah, of course I like you. You’re my kind of weird. Believe me, I didn’t need to drive four hours for sex.”

Tears prick Sami’s eyes. He kisses Dean’s shoulder again. It starts out as an apology, and then turns into something he really wants. “Can I take your jeans off?”

“Sure, but just to give you a heads-up, I’m not wearing anything underneath.”

Sami laughs. “That’s fine by me.” Is a butt massage weird? He knows he’s always a little disappointed when the massage therapist gets to his lower lower back and it feels so good, and then they back off because that’s not appropriate. He kneads Dean’s cheeks, presses his fingertips into them.

Dean groans happily. Sami’s heart unfurls. He couldn’t enjoy Dean doing this for him, but Dean—

Dean trusts him. Dean wants Sami to touch him, likes it when Sami touches him. Dean’s just fine with lying here and letting Sami do whatever the hell he wants to him. 

Sami doesn’t understand why that feels more important than the other way around. But it soothes something inside him he didn’t know was raw.

So he does whatever the hell he wants. He shrinks the world down to six feet four inches of Dean and follows his instincts or his heart or whatever’s telling him where to put his hands next, where to drop butterfly kisses and where to rub his beard over Dean’s skin, and all of it’s okay. Dean just gets opener and opener, his muscles more relaxed, and then—

He snores gently.

Sami debates briefly if he should wake Dean up. Will Dean be disappointed in the morning not to have had an orgasm? But probably he needs the sleep. And Sami feels kind of proud. 

He lowers himself onto Dean’s warm back and cries a little bit, and that’s okay too. Like...melting.


End file.
